AUTHOR NOTE: This has been newly rewritten and revised. Enjoy! Give me some feedback!
Disclaimer: I do not own bleach, just Dante and her mum.
--------- Chapter I
Drama has always been a part of my life.
Maybe I got dropped on my head when I was a baby. Maybe mom didn't breast-feed me. Maybe I was born with a dick in my brain, so I was fucked in the head to begin with. Mom was only fifteen when she had me, it wouldn't surprise me if she tried to kill me when I was still a bunch of cells fuming in her polluted womb. Dad-- well, I never really met him. Mom told me he was a worthless drunk crack dealer. I dimly remember a hairy face at one Christmas, but that's it. I don't care, it's always been just me and my mom, and I guess we bounced around a lot in America-- New York, Detroit, LA, Vegas, Sin City, Salt Lake City... when I was 11 mom's new boyfriend moved us out to Tokyo, Japan for his engineering job, and then there was a huge fight and they broke up, and by the time I was 12 mom was smoking weed with me and giving me cigarettes, when I was 14 I did my first rail of cocaine and when I was 16 I had did most of the drugs known to mankind, and a year before that I had tried heroin-- and I fell in love. Hard.
I spent most of my time with a needle sticking out of my arm and some gross dude's tongue slicking its way down my throat, and I just lay there and took it, but you couldn't call it rape because I enjoyed it, I was so super-fly I was fine with staring at the wall for six or seven hours, and pop me in the car and I'll vomit out the window at the passerbys, and no one cared because we were stoned, and that was the way it was. Mom pilfered money, got in trouble with the cops hooking and stealing, pawning shit that didn't belong to her. She got into counterfeit money business, and that kept a roof over our heads, nice clothes on our back and food at the table-- but mostly drugs in our purses. Mom and me had a lot of fun. She taught me how to shoplift and how to fix a busted stereo speaker with some duct tape and a coat hanger. She taught me how to reason with police and how to seduce someone to get what I want, but with the sweets come the sours.
I hated other kids my age, grew up pretty antisocial. I got in a lot of fights at school, puked a lot in the washroom because I was trying so damn hard to look perfect although there really wasn't anyone to look perfect for except myself. But this was the real life, and I would stare at myself every morning before anyone else was awake and stare at the thing in the reflection, and maybe if I could sum up the courage I would rake a razor across my legs or my stomach or my arm, but never close to that big pulsing purple vein because I was a pussy. Except when I was stoned. But when you're high, everything's fine. So I tried my best to be high all the time. It was good, for a long time-- I wasn't in school, I was sleeping all day in stranger's beds, partied all night, great times. I had friends that got me high for nothing, a mom that was worse then me.
We didn't have parental figures, in Japan, so in the slums we ran a little crazy. I got my ass kicked a lot, and I learned from it. I learned to take my beating like a man. I learned how to be a real person. I learned how to live. I think.
And then, we moved to Karakura.
"Gay." I stated, as I looked out the taxi window at the pretty motel in front of us. "I wanna go back home."
"C'mon, Dante. Quit bitching." Mom stuffed some crumpled bills into the cabby's hand, and I dragged my suitcase out behind me, stepping onto the concrete. It smelled nice and fresh outside. I lit a cigarette. Mom was wrestling her bags out of the trunk and I went over and helped her, grunting with the exertion. "I'm sure we'll get used to it." But not even she looked pretty sure. The cabby took off and I sat down and smoked on the grass while mom went inside to get the keys to our room. I had never stayed in suburbs before. All the houses were white, square and tall. The sky was crisp and clear and blue, and generally nice people were walking up and down nice sidewalks with nice little dogs and nice little fucking carriages.
Balls, I thought, folding my legs under me and looking at my right hand. It was shaking badly. I clenched it tightly and felt the knuckles tense in pain, and I flinched at the feeling of my bones caving in. I stretched my hand out and heard the cracks. They were also sweating a lot. Like, a lot a lot, like I was on extasy or something. I licked my lips. They were dry. My mouth tasted like shit. The grass felt too prickly, looked too green, smelled to much like lawn-mowers and happy-go-lucky bugs that frollick in the grass. I felt the trickles of discomfort in my spine. The roar of blood in my ears, the click of my throat as I swallowed. I raked my fingers through my greasy, thin hair, that desperately needed a wash. I stank like sweat, puke and cigarettes, and lighter fluid. My clothes were dirty and my shoes had dog shit and probably my own shit smeared on the bottom of them. I bet you thought drug addiction was so glamorous, right.
Where was the heroin?
Mom barked for me to get inside, that I looked like some bum waiting to get picked up. I crushed out my cigarette and hauled my bags inside. The ceiling fan hummed busily above my head, sucking up mom's cigarette smoke while she stuffed some clothes into her drawers. There were two beds, both looking suspiciously caved in and I doubted either of us would be sleeping much in them. I tossed my suitcase onto the bed and sat down. It was relatively hard. I kicked off my shoes and stretched out my dirty, bare feet. God, I really needed a wash.
"Mum,"
"What?"
"Roll a joint?" She turned to look at me, brow raised.
"Don't tell me you smoked all your fucking pot already." she said, annoyed. I shrugged. "Damn, Dante, you got a drug problem." She tossed me a bag of green and Zig Zags, and I lay down on the bed and began to roll, ignoring her as she fussed. "Where are those papers?"
"Over here."
"Not those ones! The one with Eli's number on it." Oh yeah, "Uncle" Eli. Eli was the one who hooked us up with a small house here, right smack in the middle of Karakura, and mom a little job as a waitress. He was working on getting one for me, too. I had some job experience, mostly waitressing. I liked the fancy restaurants. I liked looking at expensive dresses and high heels and pretty make up and gorgeous hair, and imagine that one day I was going to look like that-- presuming I made it to 18 years of age. I checked my cell phone. I was waiting on Yumiko to answer-- he had smack hook ups down here. There were apparently 4 dealers in this little shit-splat town, but only one sold the heavy stuff. Yumiko better answer soon. Or there will be blood. Probably mine.
I sealed the joint and me and mom sat by the screen window, talking and smoking for a little while. I could tell mom was nervous by the way she kept wiping her hands on her pantyhose. She was wearing a little plaid skirt and a heavy sweater. Summer was closing to an end and I would be enrolled in school-- although I never really stayed in school for long. I would have this idea that I would do amazingly well but then drop out after two weeks, just kind of lag off and stop going to classes, come late, lip off, and then just say fuck it and end up dropping it altogether. Fuck school. We don't need no education, haha. After the joint I was stoned and mom went to take a nap, and I ran myself a hot bath.
You see, in order to enjoy a hot bath you need to make it absolutely scaldingly hot, so hot you can barely stick your toe in, and then slowly, slowly, slide yourself in and let all that tension roll off you. I wiped the steam off the mirror and checked myself out. Whatever part of the skin that wasn't all bruised up and pockmarked and scarred was really pale, and it kind of stuck to my skeleton, like some gross yellow film. I didn't really have the most impressive tits, but at least they were there! But they were definately not attractive, pretty pathetic, but that's what drugs will do to ya. I had no ass, but I never really did. I hopped in the tub and groaned out loud. I lit a cigarette. Me and mom smoked a lot. It made my voice really deep and raspy and I sounded like I had some sort of throat cancer, and I haven't been able to inhale a full breath in like, eight months, but I didn't give a shit if I had lung cancer.
I watched the smoke curl out of my mouth and twist itself into shapes not meant to be. They were mystic, if deadly. I scrubbed myself clean after I sat for about twenty minutes, washed my hair with the little packaged shampoos offered. After I smelled like sweet lime and jasmine, I shaved my legs and whatever else, emptied the tub, and got into some fresh clothes. My favourite pyjama bottoms, with little Casper the Friendly Ghost's all over it, and a black hoodie. I took mom's hair dryer from her bag, blow-dryed it nice and straight, and trimmed it a little with my rez-slicked scissors. They were sticky but it hadn't occured to me to clean them. My hair was dyed black, the blonde roots starting to show. I was thinking of bleaching it silver-blonde soon, the same shade as my mom's. It had two choppy green streaks through it, to shock and offend. I trimmed my nails, plucked my eyebrows and upper lip, all that girly stuff. Then, I put on all my make up, wrote mom a fast note saying I was going to explore Karakura. It would be better then wilting in this over-heated motel room that stank like deodorant and dust bunnies.
I grabbed my purse, put on my shoes and sunglasses, and walked into the air-conditioned hallway. I stole some hand-sanitizer from the cleaning cart stationed outside a vacant room, the droning sound of a vacuum meeting my ears. I stepped outside into the sun, immediately feeling it warm my back and headed to the right, cutting across the lawn and into the town, where it came to life-- sorta. It was nothing like Tokyo, or Vegas, but it was a little... peaceful. Not much really to show, though-- an ancient movie theatre, an arcade and pool hall, a mall, a strip mall, a bunch of restaurants, gas stations, a hospital, the police station... within the hour I had wondered across the town, and ended up "downtown" the one block of skyscrapers looming above me. I turned down Kiyoki Avenue and came upon a wide park, with a large sparkling fountain, two fish and one angel frozen forever in marble, spouting water from mouths and hands.
There was a massive sakura tree, a few pink petals dotting the ground as late summer transformed into fall. A cold wind ripped across, and women wrapped scarves around their necks and snuggled into their men, pushing strollers. Children played on the swings, slide and sandbox, at the jungle gym, and I sat down on a bench with an uncomfortable sigh, shifting a million times until I was comfortable. I felt my phone vibrate after a few minutes. I had been staring up at the sun through my sunglasses, feeling those tides of discomfort and want roll over my body in waves. My palms were so slippery that the phone got a little greasy. Yumiko had texted me a big-ass message.
Call Okita. # 452 564 4456. Tell her I referred you. Ask her for horse. Don't be shy, I told her u would be callin her. how you doin girl? My heart soared. I sat up immediately, texting him a fast 'good' and then dialling the number. Maybe the average person would be nervous immediately calling a heroin dealer, but drug came before emotion and comfort, now. The dial rang and rang, and on the fourth ring it picked up. A high, nasal voice came up on the other line.
"Hullo."
"Hey. Can I talk to Okita, please?"
"Depends who's asking."
"Dante. Yumiko told me you would be expecting my call." Silence for a moment, and then a long sigh.
"Oh yeah. Whatcha' need?"
"Um, horse."
"How much?"
"Four."
"Wanna deal? One hundred fifty for five." I bit my lip, checked my wallet. I had two hundred in funny money, stolen money, money left over from my previous job, in crisp bills itching to be spent.
"Sure."
"Put in an extra 10, clean syringe and tubing."
"Ok. Where you wanna meet?"
"You know that arcade?" Yes, I did. "Meet me there in half an hour."
I practically ran there. I got there in fifteen minutes, waited impatiently, smoking cigarette after cigarette, my thoughts all jumbled up and confused. I couldn't get my head straight, all I could think of was that lovely high that I would be gifted with in moments. Twenty minutes later a tall, thin redhead walked in. She was wearing a white shirt and jeans and heavy boots, a backpack hanging off one shoulder. We looked at each other.
"...Dante?" she asked, hesitating.
"Yeah. Okita?" she nodded, and beckoned me outside. We went into the back lane next to it, and in the dark the exchange was made. I also bought some weed off her, just for the hell of it. After we parted ways, I went back to the motel, happy that I had made a new friend already. I could tell me and Okita were going to be great friends. She was at least 20, so I could totally get her to buy me liquor-- vodka. Hell yeah. I practically skipped back, and did so quickly. Mom was rattling around near the coffee maker, and looked up when I clattered in. There were huge shadows under her muddy brown eyes. She raised a thin, artificial brow.
"Where you been?" she asked.
"Around. Need the washroom?"
"No. Already used it." I stood in the doorway for a moment, leaning against the door. Mom poured herself some coffee in a paper cup, sipped it, and made a face. "God, this coffee blows." She dumped the whole thing into the sink, where it sloshed and steamed. "I gotta go uptown. See Eli. You'll be okay here by yourself?" I knew what she meant. She was going to go see Eli, disappear for 10 hours, come stumbling back piss drunk or cracked out, clothes torn, piss soaking through the front of her pants, puke crusting on the shirt, blood dry on her mouth.
"Ok." she waved me aside, slid on her ridiculously high pumps. She had changed into a micro-mini and halter, her hair teased up in a high ponytail. I could see the silver a lot now. Lines creased her eyes and lips. Her breasts were starting to sag. I guess time stopped for no one. I waved her good-bye, took her little portable CD player and her Pink Floyd CD, and locked myself in the washroom, turning off my cell phone. I got out of my pants and changed into a black t shirt that was too small for me. I turned on the music, some insence from my purse, set the mood. I cooked the heroin, which looked and smelled good. Very good. The needle slurped it up. I t-eed off, leaned against the tub, and slid the needle into my pulsing, tracked vein. I pushed down on the plunger.
Holy.
God.
That insane, mind-blowing euphoria overcame me. The needle slipped out of my fingers as I fought for those first two minutes of control, and then after the rush passed I let myself slip in. My head fell back, my neck creaking, my mouth opening slowly as my eyes slowly closed, until they remained just a crack. I remembered to look away from the light, because I would go blind, because I would stare at it for hours. I counted the tiles, over and over. Twenty three. Twenty Three. Twenty Three. The drip of water in the sink. Drip. Drip. Drip. My breath was loud and roaring. I could hear everything in my body, every beat of my heart. Finally, my hands were no longer shaking. I could relax. Finally, my body wasn't tensed and the feeling of bugs streaking and crawling under my skin faded. I was in heaven.
I woke up several hours later, with a start. I sat up immediately, and immediately regretted it. A sharp pain shot through my skull. I had passed out on the bathroom floor. I had no idea what time it was. I waited for a moment, until the world was no longer fuzzy, grabbed my phone and with shaking fingers, turned it on. It was four in the morning. When had I shot up? Seven pm? So I had been asleep for almost seven hours, not including the two where I had tripped out. My hands were shaking so bad I dropped my phone and it clattered to the floor. The sound sent me reeling, and I puked in the toilet a few times. I scrambled to flush it, because the smell was overpowering. I lay down until the world stopped spinning, and then sat up and adjusted my thigh-high, pink and black stockings. I pulled my pants back on and rolled a joint on the floor, and dragged myself out of the washroom.
Mom was asleep on the bed. Her shirt was gone, and there was a bruise swelling on her left eye. God, even in this nice, decent little town, she had managed to get knocked out by some asshole. She reeked of booze and yep, she had pissed herself again. I pulled the twisted blankets over her, and with some difficulty turned her onto her stomach so she wouldn't choke on her vomit in the morning. I almost tripped on her high heels, spread out on the floor. One was broken. I put them on the bed and lay on my own bed, and smoked this joint, and after I was very high again I felt much better, and changed into different clothes. Grey jeans an off-shoulder black shirt and a silver, chain belt that was nice and thin and classy. I decided I would go for a nice, long, four AM walk.
I walked slowly. The town was dead, except for the occasional dog barking in some yard, and every once and a while a car would drive by, probably some dude who had to go too work mega-early. The bar was even closed. One bum lay against its wall, booze trickling from the bottle at his limp hand. I scooped it up quickly and downed a shot of it. Pure whiskey. I tossed it back at him and left the alley, wiping my mouth. Maybe it would have grossed anyone else out, but that shot did me good and I could walk straighter. I slid on my sweater, which had been tied around my waist. Damn, it was cold. I pulled my shirt down so the black part covered my ass and hips, because I felt weird wearing so much white. I smoked a cigarette. A cop car cruised past me. I felt that tightening in my stomach. I hadn't taken out that heroin, and if the cop decided to search me, I would be busted. But he didn't stop, he turned the corner, and that was damn good, because a little incident happened.
A mangy brown dog shot out of an alley and slammed right into me, tripping me up and I landed hard on my face. The dog yelped, and as it did something flew from its mouth and next to me. I grabbed it and hucked it at it as it scampered off, howling. "Fucking mutt!" I yelled at it, getting to my feet, brushing myself off. My clothes were probably all dirty. I glared at it, and then looked down at what it had been running with. It was a little turtle plushie. I walked over and picked it up. It's little black eyes stared at me, lifelessly. I squeezed it. It was a little wet from being in the dog's teeth.
"HEY!" A voice yelled, from the direction where the dog had come from. "GET BACK HERE!" I got the hell out of there, shrinking away quietly across the street and into the pitch-black lane, moving quietly, holding the plushie. I did not want to deal with any guy looking for his dog. I was annoyed and tired now, I was regretting my desicion too walk. At least I had a little thing to keep me company. I went down to the park and sat on a bench under a streetlight, and in the calm yellow light I cleaned up the plushie the best I could, and decided I would take him home. I used to have one like it when I was little. Don't know what happened to it. Around six, I went home. Mom was in the washroom. The water was running and the light was on. I knocked on the door, frowning.
"Mum?"
The door ripped open and my mom was standing there, bloodshot eyes ablaze.
"Bitch." she snapped, and wham! She punched me in the head. I shrieked in surprise and went flying back against the wall. She came back at me, a huge cracked out beast from Hell, and I braced myself and kicked her hard in the stomach. She let out a small oof! and went flying back into the bathroom.
"What the FUCK?" I screamed, kicking the door open as it was beginning to swing shut on me. "What'choo on, mom!"
"Just leave me alone, Dante. I'm sorry. Just leave me alone." she slid down to the floor, weeping. Snot rolled down her upper lip and into her mouth, and she blubbered, pathetically. She was out of her head. I did as she asked, but removed all the towels and sharp objects I could find. Couldn't really do much for the mirror, but I would hear it breaking if she got any funny ideas. I fell asleep on my bed and curled around the stuffed animal. It gave me a little bit of comfort, and something to hold onto helped steady the rapid beating of my heart. Mom sometimes hit me, but the way she lived her life I'm lucky she didn't try to beat the shit out of me. I loved my mom, and I knew she loved me-- hell, sometimes it was me who just randomly started beating on her. And I never apologized, and didn't stop until I got tired. Those were Bad Days, and the Bad Days were some things I would love to forget.
I slept hard.
Welcome to my life.